


in motion

by yvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/yvenger
Summary: Three times they held hands.





	in motion

 

Dier’s hand slips into his as they listen to the announcements of a season well-played. Dele frowns at him and gets a grin in return.

 

“Everyone’s here with their kids,” Dier says, indicating their teammates, who are in fact leading their family members around the field. “I’ve decided you’ll be my kid.”

 

He squeezes Dele’s hand, and turns away, seemingly feeling like the matter is closed. It’s kind of infuriating since it feels like the confusion in Dele’s chest at the simple gesture should be visible on the outside too. 

 

What he feels for Dier certainly isn’t childlike, or simple.

 

Dele doesn’t pull away, even though he feels like he should. It’s like being committed to a joke but the joke is on Dele, as the two of them skip around the grass, hand in hand. 

 

Dele carefully doesn’t squeeze his fingers, keeping the hold loose. Somewhere in the celebrations, their hands separate. Dele doesn’t know when, but it feels like he feels Dier’s grip for hours afterward.

 

*

 

Dier’s hand slips into his as they stand, watching Harry set down the ball on the penalty spot. Dier’s hand is sweaty and shaking. His whole body is shaking. He’s taking the last penalty kick, Dele knows, and he’s struck with the terror of it. He squeezes Dier’s hand, steps a bit closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, trying to take off some of the burden. 

 

H scores. Dier’s fingers lace through his. Dele can feel him breathing, feel it even out. Dier’s hands stop shaking.

 

The hold breaks when Dier steps forward. Dele’s jacket is bulky enough that he doesn’t worry about someone seeing. He’s got bigger things to worry about.

 

Like Dier’s back, walking away, red against green, growing smaller and smaller. Dele’s ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton wool and he swallows around a dry throat. He closes his eyes, can’t keep watching. 

 

Jesse screams next to him, full of unbridled joy.

 

Dele opens his eyes, dizzy with the relief of it, launches blindly towards the dogpile of his teammates. It’s joy, so pure and primal, he’s shaking with it as he falls into the mass of bodies and trusts that they’ll hold him up. 

 

There are not many England fans in the crowd, but where they are, they shine like beacons, their voices twice as loud. They’re celebrating, a history of failure dropped like a cloak at their feet. It feels like an exhale. It feels like relief. 

 

Dier finds him in the crowd, his hand clamping down on Dele’s elbow. Dele turns around to look at him, soaked in sweat and spots of color high on his cheeks, and then they’re hugging, Dele’s head tucked in the crook of Dier’s neck, mouth on his skin, tasting salt.

 

“Fucking brilliant,” Dele says, and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about - the penalty, the result, or Dier himself.

 

*

 

The airplane isn’t quiet. The ever-present buzzing of the engines is undercut with the exclamations of a few of the guys playing cards, muted hip-hop music and Harry’s snoring. Dele and Dier are sitting together, as is their custom.

 

Dier is sitting by the window, staring distractedly at the clouds outside, a small smile on his lips, and Dele is staring. He knows he is and some part of him is ashamed.

 

The other part is distracted by the curl of Dier’s lips, by the scruff of his beard and the thought of how it would feel against his smoother cheek. Dier’s hand is between them on the armrest. Just there, his wide palms and short fingers and square-cut nails.

 

Dele thinks about it. And then he covers Dier’s hand with his own.

 

Dier huffs out a laugh. He’s watching him from the corner of his eye, still mostly in profile, smile growing.

 

He turns his hand around so they’re palm to palm, and Dele twines their fingers together.

 

Dier’s hand is warm and smooth, softer than it has any right to be. Dele makes a mental note to banter him about using hand cream. Later. Now, he circles his thumb over the back of Dier’s hand, pretends not to hear the hitch in his breathing.

 

It feels like relief. 

 

They stay like that for the rest of the trip.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Funny how they're in love. Them holding hands while watching the pens is something I made up because I can do things like that, just lie on the internet. They did actually hold hands during the end of season celebrations and Dele said later that Dier told him that he would be his kid. 
> 
> Part of my unconnected world cup one-shots


End file.
